


The Name of a Foreigner's God

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Ice Nation!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5768323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and the delinquents leave the dropship and run straight into the Ice Nation's arms.  The Ice Queen only requires one thing to secure their allegiance:  a marriage.</p><p> </p><p>Or, Grounder!Clarke and Bellamy in an arranged marriage.  (Also featuring domme!Clarke and sub!Bellamy, just for funsies.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Name of a Foreigner's God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swishywillow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishywillow/gifts).



Bellamy had never felt so helpless in his life.

 

He knelt before the Ice Queen and closed his eyes, placing all his trust in a people he knew nothing about, and prayed.

 

He prayed that they would give them shelter, and he prayed that she wouldn’t demand more than they could give, for they could give precious little.  The three weeks they had spent at the dropship had been an unmitigated disaster; they would all likely be dead if a young man hadn’t appeared out of thin air one day and offered them a deal: come with him and join his clan, and maybe they wouldn’t all die.

 

Bellamy wanted to stay and build a home at the dropship, even with the Grounders picking them off one by one, but Finn and Raven overruled him.  What followed was an endless trek across what their guide called The Dead Zone and through increasingly frigid temperatures, leaving a trail of bodies behind them.  Bellamy almost lost Raven to grief the night they had to bury Finn in the shifting sands, and he wasn’t sure what they would do if the Ice Queen turned them down. It was the Ice Nation or death.  Bellamy stood in front of the remaining fifty of the original one hundred delinquents (fifty-two if you counted him and Raven) and waited for the Ice Queen to speak.

 

“Wells, I sent you to broach an alliance with the Trikru, and you’ve returned with children,” she said with just a touch less disdain than Bellamy had anticipated.

 

Wells stepped forward and saluted.  “I made a decision, my queen.  The alliance can wait— they could not.”

 

The queen knit her brow and Bellamy risked a glance up at her.  She had a long brown braid hanging over her shoulder and was only a few years older than his mother would have been.  Her face a cool was a regal mask.  “Where are they from?  They seem...underdressed.”

 

“The sky,” Wells supplied.  “Survivors from a space station, sent to the Earth on a mission.”

 

“And what sort of people send children on a mission?”  

 

Bellamy ground his teeth together at her implication, but stayed silent.   _ I’ll handle the talking, _ Wells had told him.   _ Don’t speak until she addresses you directly. _  “Desperate people, my queen.  They landed in Lexa’s territory and were on the verge of war,” Wells answered.

 

“So rather than broach an alliance with the Trikru, you rescued their enemies?”  

 

“Not enemies.  Intruders, perhaps, but as you have noted— they’re children.  Lost children.  They would not have survived the Trikru’s warriors, although many of them show promise as fighters.  They could be useful for us, if we trained them.”

 

The Ice Queen let silence fall for so long Bellamy wondered if she would ever speak again.  The hall was cold, and the shuffling of the delinquents behind them echoed.  “Who leads these children?” she said finally.

 

Wells tapped his shoulder and Bellamy stood.  “I do,” he said bluntly.  He cleared his throat and added, “my queen,” as an afterthought, internally cursing Wells.   _ All that time walking through the Dead Zone and you didn’t think to warn me to talk like a medieval knight?  _

 

“And your name?”

 

“Bellamy.  Bellamy Blake.”

 

“How do you come to lead these children, Bellamy Blake?”

 

“I’m the oldest,” he said after a short moment.   _ I tricked them into doing what I want _ didn’t seem like the sort of answer the Ice Queen would appreciate, especially since she insisted on seeing them all as children.  “And we may be young, but we have skills.  Fighters, yes, but also engineers and farmers.”  That boast didn’t carry as much weight without Monty, but Wells had told him that the Ice Nation had been hit hard in recent years, both with diseases and war, and appealing to the queen’s practicality was essential.

 

“And what do you ask of me?”

 

This much, Wells had prepared him for.  “Shelter, my— uh, your majesty.  Shelter, and acceptance into your clan.”  Begging left a bitter taste on his tongue, but beg he would if it kept the kids safe.

 

“How many?”

 

“Fifty-two.”

 

Her light brown eyes surveyed them coldly, noting each and every delinquent with injuries and lingering on Harper, who hadn’t stopped coughing since Wells led them into the hall.  “How many were you?”

 

“One hundred and two.”

 

“All lost to the Trikru?”

 

“Some to the Gr— Trikru, the rest to illness or injury.”

 

“And you arrived when?”

 

“Almost four weeks ago.”

 

The Ice Queen nodded and rearranged her white fur cloak.  “The Earth has been hard on you, hasn’t it?” she said, not unkindly.  Bellamy swallowed, not sure what else to say.  She looked around at her retainers and stood.  “You come before me, fifty-two children asking for shelter.  I would be a cold woman to deny you, but winter is approaching and our stores are limited.”

 

“There’s always trading with the Sea Clan,” Wells interjected, but she silenced him with a raised eyebrow.

 

“As I was saying, I would be a cold woman to deny children safety.  But what can you offer us?  You say you have fighters and engineers, but how can we know you won’t betray us when the sun grows warm again?  I will need a pledge of faith, something to show my people I have not accepted traitors into our midst.”  Bellamy nodded even though he wasn’t sure where she was going.  “Would one of you— one of age, if any are— consent to a marriage to one of my clan?”

 

_ A marriage?  That’s it? _  “I’m of age, your highness.  I’ll do it.”  Octavia gasped from behind his right shoulder, but he didn’t turn around.  If this was all the Ice Queen wanted, he’d marry whomever she threw at him.  It wasn’t even a choice in his mind.

 

The Ice Queen nodded.  “I will talk to my people and find a suitable consort,” she said, and a young woman with a sword strapped to her back stepped out of the shadows at the foot of the throne.  She was young— his age, or a little younger— and pretty, with long blonde hair and icy blue eyes.  “I’ll marry him,” the blonde said, her voice ringing through the hall.  

 

Wells gasped and a flicker crossed the Ice Queen’s face.  “Clarke?  No, I—” she protested.

 

“It makes the most sense, Mother.  Who better to ensure their loyalty than one of your own bloodline?  A leader for a leader.”  She looked towards Bellamy, and a corner of his lip twitched up.  He couldn’t help it— he had a soft spot for rebellion.  

 

The Ice Princess returned his half smile and turned back to her mother.  They switched into the Grounder language for several exchanges, the queen’s frown deepening until she clucked her tongue in a decidedly unqueenlike manner.  He’d heard his mother do much the same thing when arguing with Octavia, and he hastily rearranged his countenance to look serious when she turned back to face them.

 

“Then it is decided.  Bellamy Blake of the Sky People, you will marry my daughter in four days’ time, once the Bride Rites are completed.  Wells will see your people settled.  We do not have enough dwellings for so great a number, but the rooms adjoining this hall should suffice for the winter and Jackson will see to your sick.  Welcome to Oster.”  She sat back on her throne with the unmistakeable air of someone dismissing him.

 

Wells tipped his head towards a side hall and Bellamy followed, the delinquents shuffling along behind them.  “That did not go as expected,” Wells said.

 

“But we’re safe, right?  She agreed to our terms,” Bellamy said.  “That’s all I wanted.”

 

“You’re safe,” he confirmed.  “Clarke does not give her word lightly.”

 

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, trying out his future wife’s name for the first time.  “You know her?”

 

“We grew up together.”  

 

Something in Wells’ tone gave Bellamy pause.  “You love her?”

 

“I did.  And I still care for her, but she did not feel the same,” Wells said tightly.  He gestured to two doors to their right.  “You should take these two rooms.  I’ll send Jackson here, but some of your sick may have to be relocated to be nearer our healers.”  

 

Bellamy let the matter of Clarke drop and opened the first door.  He stood aside as the kids pushed past him.  Like the queen’s hall the room had a light tile floor and the bank of windows facing south were boarded over.  The room itself was spacious, a large, empty square with a hole in the ceiling above a pile of wood.  “What was this place?  Before the bombs, I mean,” he asked.

 

“A school,” Wells said.  “We think for children, given the size of the desks and chairs we found.  Separate your sick and wounded, and I will send someone along to see to your clothing,” he said and turned on his heel, clearly not happy with Bellamy’s decision.

 

Octavia fought her way through the crowd to his shoulder.  “Really, Bell?  You’re going to marry a stranger?”

 

“It keeps you safe,” he said with a one-shoulder shrug.  “I don’t have to like her.”

 

“Now there’s something every bride wants to hear,” a woman behind him said drily.

 

Bellamy spun around and found himself face-to-face with the Ice Princess.  An uncomfortable heat rose on his neck and he stammered a hello, but she waved her hand dismissively.  “Pick some of your people to help Sinclair,” she said, motioning to the man waiting behind her.  “He’ll take them to the store rooms.  We may not have enough clothing for all, but if your people are willing, he’ll take a few of them hunting after they are fitted.  It may take some time but we should be able to make enough hides to keep them warm.”

 

Raven had been listening from several feet away and grabbed Jasper and Miller by the scruffs of their necks.  Wordlessly the three of them trooped after Clarke’s attendant, leaving Bellamy standing awkwardly before her while Octavia watched, amused.  “I thought we might take a walk,” Clarke said in a voice that told him she was used to having her requests taken as commands.  “Get to know one another before the Bride Rites start.”  

 

Bellamy nodded and looked to Octavia.  “Round up anyone who needs to see a doctor, and make sure that includes Harper.  I don’t like the sound of her cough.”

 

Octavia made an exasperated sound.  “Go.  I can handle this,” she said, and shook her head when he opened his mouth to add that Monroe’s cut looked like it was getting infected.  “I said, I’ve got this.  Go, get to know your princess,” she ordered.

 

Bellamy followed Clarke down the dim hallway and back into the bright November glare.  “Your people will have to double up on sleeping pallets,” she said conversationally.  “At least until we show them how to make more.  Will that be a problem?”

 

“I doubt it.  Sleeping quarters were tight back at our camp too.  I think they’ll just be grateful no one is trying to kill them for now,” he said.  Clarke led him down a ramshackle street and he took in their surroundings, half crumbling two story houses and half forest.  “By the way, where are we?  I thought all the cities were destroyed in the bombs.”

 

“The cities were.  Oster was too far from anywhere important to be targeted, so it survived.  We found a few skeletons when we moved in, but too few to be the original inhabitants, so we assume they evacuated at some point.”  She held back a tree branch and Bellamy ducked underneath it.  She seemed to have a destination in mind as she strode forward, only glancing over her shoulder to be sure he was following.

 

“So you haven’t lived here long?”

 

“Only about five years.  We had been moving farther south, but clashes with the Trikru and the Mountain were getting more frequent so our former queen led us here.  It’s easier to defend than our old settlement.”  She led him between two old houses, their windows broken and their facades covered in vines, but he recognized the style from old romantic comedies Octavia had loved to watch.  He couldn’t fathom how a house so large would only be home for one family, but he supposed that back before the bombs people had acres of space and limitless supplies.

 

Clarke led him up a hill, past the remnants of a playground, and stopped at the crest.  Before him spread a vast ocean—grey and endless.  Between the waves he could see the tops of a few buildings made of stone like the old school.  “What ocean is this?” he asked.  Back on the Ark they were required to memorize certain major geographical features and he’d grown used to the outline of landmasses on earth from the large windows, but he had never imagined seeing an expanse of water so large.  It was overwhelming.

 

“We think it’s Lake Erie, or what was Lake Erie.  This is far beyond the old borders of that lake, but we think it may have spilled over in the aftermath.  Only a few maps survived, but that’s our best guess.”

 

Wind blew their hair straight back from their faces and knifed through Bellamy’s jacket.  “So why did you agree to marry me?” he asked, studying her profile.

 

Clarke’s cheeks were red from the brisk wind and she kept her eyes on the horizon.  “You didn’t hesitate.  When my mother asked for a marriage, you volunteered without a second thought.”

 

“So?”

 

“So you’re brave.  And loyal.  I admire that.  And it— it solves a problem for us.”  She squinted a little, the wind making her eyes tear up.  

 

“What problem is that?”

 

“Me.”  Clarke sat down on a rock and patted the flat space next to her.  Bellamy sat and waited for her to continue.  “When my mother was chosen as queen, she wanted to repair our relations with the Trikru.  Our former queen was...ruthless in her dealings with the heda of Trikru.  I was sent to them as an ambassador, to create an alliance with their heda.”  She crossed her arms against the chill and risked a glance at him.  “I fell in love with her,” she said simply.  “I fell in love with her and agreed to an engagement, but then she betrayed my people.  So I left.”

 

“And now anyone you marry might be seen as a slight against them,” Bellamy supplied, and Clarke nodded.

 

“I couldn’t marry someone outside the clan without them risking becoming the Trikru’s enemy, and marriage inside our clan would do nothing to strengthen our position.”

 

“But my people aren’t allied with anyone yet, and marrying me brings you our loyalty.”

 

“Not to mention your warriors,” Clarke finished.

 

“They aren’t much,” he warned.  “They’re just kids, and this is the first time they’ve had to fight.”

 

“But they’re young, and once they’ve been seen to by our healers, they’ll be strong.  Don’t count them out.”

 

“What if I mistreat you?”  he asked.  “You say I’m brave and loyal, but you don’t know me.  I could be a monster.”

 

A smile played along the corners of her lips.  “You could be, true.  But that’s why I have this,” she said, patting a dagger sheathed along her hip.  “You could mistreat me, but if you do I’ll slit your throat and watch you die.”

 

“Fair enough,” Bellamy said sardonically.  “And if you mistreat me?”

 

“Then you have my permission to find your own dagger,” Clarke said, matching his tone.  “Once the Bride Rites begin, we won’t be allowed to see each other.  So if you have questions, now is the time.”

 

Bellamy took a deep breath.  “I do have a request.  Or favor, rather.”  Clarke raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue.  “My sister.  Octavia.  Even if— no matter what happens with us, promise me that she’ll be safe.”

 

“You have my word.”

 

“And you’re sure you want to marry me?”

 

“I am.  Are you?”

 

Bellamy looked at her and met her gaze straight on.  “I am.”

  
  
  


***

 

The Bride Rites, it turned out, were three days of feasting.  Clarke spent the first night with the elder women of the Ice Nation, the second with the younger women (including Octavia and Raven), and the third with her family.  As Bellamy was the oldest of the delinquents he spent that first night settling disputes over sleeping arrangements, but the second night Miller scrounged up some moonshine from Sinclair so Bellamy and most of the male delinquents spent the night getting drunk.  The night before his wedding he spent with Octavia, quietly going over their plans to share the supplies Sinclair had dropped off and checking on the kids taken to the healers.  Harper was already back on her feet, but a few of the younger kids would take a little longer.  By the time he sank onto the pallet he shared with Miller he was so tired he couldn’t even spare a thought for the next day.

 

The Ice Nation’s ceremony was short and conducted entirely in English.  It reminded him of marriage ceremonies from Octavia's movies with only a few changes, and Bellamy wondered if the words had been passed down through generations here, too.  Clarke wore her regular outfit of grey doe skin leggings and a thick tunic with a rabbit fur shawl, while Bellamy had changed into borrowed Grounder clothes.  He felt awkward and out of place with the long black fur cloak, but Sinclair promised him it was proper attire.  Wells’ Father led them in the words, which had more to do with fire than ice as he promised to warm her through the long winter nights and together they lit a small bonfire.  They kissed, dry and quick, and everyone applauded dutifully and awkwardly.

 

Clarke took him by the hand and led him from the hall, past Octavia and Raven’s worried glances and Murphy’s waggling eyebrows and out the door.  They walked down two short blocks and up to a small white two story home.  The roof was missing in places and it appeared the back of the house had sunk farther into the earth than the front, but when Clarke shouldered open the door made of fresh wood, he saw that the front of the home remained relatively intact.  The room was larger than his family’s compartment back on the Ark, with a wide, fur covered bed tucked into the back corner and a large fireplace on the southern wall.

 

“Does everyone have their own place?” he asked, simply for something to say.

 

“Most do.  Some share, but there’s more than enough for everyone to have their own.  Or there was, until your people arrived.”

 

“Sinclair said we have to wait until spring to fix up some more homes,” Bellamy said, setting down his pack on the hardwood floor.

 

“The snows could arrive any day now,” Clarke replied.  “It’s best to wait— they’ll be warmer in the hall.”

 

Bellamy nodded and shifted his weight from foot to foot, not really sure what she expected of him.  Sinclair had assured him that consummation wasn’t expected on the first night, and that their marriage would be binding whatever happened behind closed doors.  But he still had to live with her, and aside from their short conversation the first day, the Ice Princess was still a stranger to him.

 

Clarke shrugged out of her shawl and threw another log onto the fire before sitting cross-legged on the floor.  “Sit,” she ordered, the laces at the neck of her tunic pulling open slightly.  She produced a small glass bottle from a box near the fire and shook it toward him, setting the dark liquid inside swirling.  “We’ll drink.”

 

“You trying to get me drunk?” he teased, toeing off his boots and joining her in front of the fire.

 

Clarke unscrewed the bottle and took a long pull.  “Yes,” she deadpanned, and handed it over.

 

Bellamy winced after his swallow.  He’d had some moonshine on the ground before Monty went missing, and on the Ark he was usually too poor to afford anything but the cheapest black market stuff.  This, however, put both of those stills to shame.   “So you’re a princess,” he said.  “Does that mean one day you’re going to be queen?”

 

“Why, you looking to be king?” she said with an arched eyebrow.  “I could be queen, but the nation will choose her successor.  Those who wish to be considered put forth their names when a queen or king dies.  Other clans have other ways, but this has worked for us.”

 

“Would you want to be queen?”

 

She wrapped her arms around her knees and shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I’m not sure I want everyone’s lives in my hands.”

 

Bellamy nodded, and they passed the bottle back and forth silently for a few moments.  “Will taking us in lead to war with the Trikru?”

 

“It could, but Lexa has been wanting a truce again, so chances are it won’t.”  Clarke accepted the bottle from him and tossed it back.

 

Bellamy thought back to what Clarke had said about the Trikru’s leader.  “She betrayed you, you said.”

 

“She made a deal.”  Clarke fixed her gaze on the roaring fire and he watched her jaw tighten.  “With the Mountain.”

 

“Another clan?”

 

“Of a sort.  They’re survivors, like us, but they live in the belly of a mountain.  When they leave they cover themselves completely and use some sort of breathing assistance— Sinclair thinks they can’t survive on their own.  They...they take our people into the mountain.  And they don’t come back, or when they do, they’re different.  Savage.  Mindless.  Broken.”

 

“So they take your people and torture them, and she made a deal with them?”

 

Clarke raised and dropped one shoulder, her eyes still on the fire.  “The Trikru live in the shadow of the mountain and their losses have been greater.  Her deal meant her people were free of the threat of the Mountain Men immediately, but we weren’t included because my mother had not formally accepted her alliance yet.  I think she thought— I think she thought I would understand.”

 

“Did you?”

 

She took another long drink from the bottle and Bellamy pretended he wasn’t watching the line of her throat or the way her breasts pressed against her tunic.  “In a way.  But I couldn’t love someone who could sacrifice my people like that.”

 

“And she wants a truce again?”

 

“More than a truce.  She wants an alliance with us— word has it the Mountain has broken their deal, and Lexa wants us to join her to defeat them.”

 

“Will you?”

 

Clarke frowned at him.  “You ask a lot of questions, Bellamy of the Sky People.”

 

“I am your husband,” he pointed out.  He accepted the bottle from her hand, the buzz of moonshine settling into his chest.

 

“You are,” she said, reclining onto her elbows.  He mimicked her posture and let the warmth of the fire lick at his toes.  “Do you wish you weren’t?”

 

Bellamy frowned in thought.  “Not really.  If this is what it’s like, it won’t be so bad.”

 

“Won’t be so bad,” she snorted.  “You certainly have a way with words.”

 

“I’m better in front of a crowd.”

 

Clarke smiled, and Bellamy forgot that he was going to point out that she never answered his question about Lexa.  Her cheeks were lightly flushed and her eyes were bright as his gaze dropped down to where her tunic revealed the valley between her breasts.

 

She followed his gaze and her eyes darkened.  “You want me,” she stated.

 

“And if I do?”  There was no point in denying it, after all.

 

“We're married,” she responded.  “And there’s no shame in enjoying each other.”

 

Bellamy gave her a lopsided grin.  “I’ve had sex for worse reasons.”

 

She smiled back, although there was a flicker in her eye that he couldn’t quite discern.  But then she was leaning towards him and pressing her lips against his and he stopped caring.  Her lips were soft and her skin was warm where his hand came up to cup her cheek.  He pressed her back and settled himself between her hips, chasing her lips and groaning in appreciation when she brushed her tongue against his.  Moonshine still burned on both their tongues as he dragged his lips to her jaw and she arched her neck, giving him better access even as her hands sought purchase underneath his shirt.  Her nails dug into the muscles of his back when he nipped at her collarbone, and Clarke huffed impatiently as she tried to pull his shirt off.

 

Bellamy sat back on his heels to help her, and grinned at her struggles to wiggle out of her own shirt while still pinned beneath him.  “Where’s the hurry?” he teased.

 

Clarke tossed her tunic behind them and narrowed her eyes.  “I don’t remember giving you permission to talk,” she replied in a husky voice.

 

Bellamy stopped with his shirt dangling from one arm and stared at her, surprise warring with the bolt of arousal her words had sent to his groin.  He recovered and dropped the scratchy black wool shirt to the side, leaning down to bracket her body with his.  “So that’s how it’s going to be, princess?” he replied, echoing her tone.

 

Clarke’s eyes flashed at the challenge and she grabbed a fistfull of his hair, kissing him fiercely.  This time there were teeth, clashing and biting, and then she twisted until Bellamy was underneath her instead.  His hands came up to bracket her hips automatically, but she seized them and pinned them above his head.  She pulled back and raised her eyebrows in a question.  He swallowed thickly and gave a quick jerk of his head, and then she was kissing him again, her hands still curled around his wrists.

 

He was painfully hard but didn’t dare move, not without her permission.  That knowledge--being at her mercy, letting her call the shots— only served to make him harder.  Clarke moved her mouth down his neck, hot and wet, and only paused in her movements to circle his nipple with her tongue and then bite it lightly.  He groaned at that and she grinned, feral and victorious.  Her face was shadowed as the fire roared behind her, but he could just make out the glint in her eye that let him know she was enjoying the power just as much as he was enjoying the surrender.  She moved lower and lower, placing open-mouthed kisses across the ridges of his abdomen and scraping her teeth along the muscles of his hips.  She kissed at the small bump that marked his implant and paused, looking up with a raised eyebrow.

 

“It’s my implant.  Stops pregnancy,” he explained.

 

“So this means you can fuck me and finish inside?”

 

Bellamy closed his eyes to stop himself from coming right then and there at her words.  “It does.”

 

“Good,” she said with a grin, nipping at it.

 

He twitched— he couldn’t help it— and Clarke stopped her progress to lurch upward and kiss him.  It was almost a relief to kiss her, because if she was kissing him she wasn’t torturing him, but the moment that thought crossed his mind she pulled away, leaving him wanting.  She stood to peel her leggings down.  Bellamy itched to help, to feel the smooth skin of her thighs as he pulled down the soft leather, but he stayed the way she’d left him, with his wrists crossed over his head.

 

She wore nothing under her leggings and the the dark gold thatch of curls between her thighs  shone in the firelight.  Clarke knelt astride him and for a moment, her face softened.  “You can move your arms,” she said.

 

“Do you want me to?” he asked with an arch of his brow.

 

“I do,” she replied.  “You’re okay?”

 

“Never better, princess,” he said, bringing his hands down to sink his fingers into the curve of her hips.  She was soft but strong, and the warmth of her skin only made him want her more.

 

“Good,” she said, and just like that, they were back in the game.  She moved forward until she reached his shoulders and braced herself on the edge of the bed behind him.  “Then you’re going to eat me until I scream,” she ordered, lowering herself down above his face.

 

Bellamy craned his neck and used his thumbs to part her folds, smiling to himself at how wet she already was.  Her curls brushed his nose as he gave her a teasing lick, but the moment he tasted her his fingers bit into the soft flesh of her thighs, needing to anchor himself.  Clarke whined but he kept going, fluttering his tongue against her clit as she got wetter and wetter.  She was panting above him, her body curving against the bedframe, her breasts heaving.  Bellamy looked up and found her watching him with dark, hooded eyes and he stopped teasing her, dragging his tongue from her entrance to her clit with firm, even pressure.  He sucked her clit between his lips and flicked his tongue against it, ratcheting her cries to a higher and higher pitch until her thighs started to tremble and she broke, keening and slumping against her bed.

 

Clarke eased herself off him and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “On the bed,” she ordered.  “Pants off.”

 

Bellamy complied, his cock bobbing slightly when he pulled his pants down and he sighed with relief.  He laid down and watched her saunter over to him, magnificent in the firelight.  “Grab the headboard and don’t touch me until I tell you to,” she said firmly.  Bellamy complied, and let the bite of the iron frame in his palms keep him tethered to earth while she climbed over him and grasped him firmly at the base of his cock.  “Okay?” she asked, that same soft look crossing her features.

 

“Okay,” he confirmed, and then his vision went white as she sank down on him.  Her hands never stopped moving, exploring every inch of his skin while she moved up and down, her walls gripping him so tightly he never wanted her to stop.  She dragged her nails down his side, leaving angry red marks in their wake, and he bucked into her involuntarily.  She gasped at how deep he pushed into her.  “Again,” she demanded, and again he did, reveling in the freedom of being at her disposal while she fucked herself.

 

Abruptly she leaned forward to capture his lips in a bruising kiss, and the change in angle made heat curl low in his belly.  “I’m close,” he gasped, still holding on to the iron bedframe with all his strength.  

 

“Then touch me,” Clarke replied.

 

Bellamy wedged his hand between them and pressed hard, fast circles to her clit until her walls were shuddering around him and then he was coming too, groans wrenched from his lips even as she stopped moving and let him spurt deep inside her.

 

They were both sweaty and sticky when he helped her move off to his side.  Clarke rolled to her side and pulled the furs over them.  Bellamy settled onto his back and tried not to dissect what exactly had just happened, and within moments they were both sound asleep.

  
  
  
  


***

 

“Careful,” Clarke breathed in his ear.  “Wait until she’s closer— a little closer— now,” she hissed, and Bellamy loosed the arrow he had drawn.  It struck the deer in the flank but Clarke’s went clean through the neck.  The doe stumbled and tried to run, but the bright spurt of blood hitting the thin crust of snow grew stronger and she collapsed only a few yards away.  Clarke was up and out of the bushes in a heartbeat, her dagger flashing as she ran.

 

The doe’s legs were thrashing feebly when Clarke knelt next to her and ran the dagger across her throat, letting the rest of the blood seep into the earth.  “That was a good shot,” Clarke said.  “Clean.  Steady.”

 

“In the wrong part of the deer,” Bellamy countered.  He slung the bow over his shoulder and gave her a hand up.

 

“You hit it,” Clarke replied.  “Not bad for your first hunt.  Grab the hind legs,” she ordered, and together they dragged their prize back to the settlement.  Bellamy was sweating through his furs by the time they broke through the forest into the clearing at the edge of town, but he also couldn’t stop smiling.  Back at the dropship, hunting had been a perilous, time-consuming task.  Spears and axes could kill an animal easily enough but they required that you get close enough to the animal to actually strike it.  They had managed a few boars and one panther, but with dozens of teenagers the meat rarely lasted more than a few days even after Finn convinced them to set up a smoke house and store some of it.  Towards the end, Bellamy had taken to going to bed hungry, loudly insisting that he didn’t feel like eating in a vain attempt to stretch their meagre stores out.

 

Bow hunting was miles easier, but even better was the knowledge that the kids wouldn’t have gone hungry even if he’d missed.  Life with the Ice Nation was hard, make no mistake, but it was no harder than life on the Ark.

 

And the Ark didn’t have wives with blonde hair and blue eyes and soft, warm skin.  He wasn’t in love with Clarke— Octavia might tease him about being a romantic but they had only been with the Ice Nation for barely two weeks and even Bellamy wouldn’t pretend he loved someone so quickly— but he would admit that she was one of the better things in his life.  He still wished he knew her better, but she had a habit of shutting down whenever questions got too personal.  He knew much, much more about the Ice Nation and the other clans, and he’d learned the best spots for trapping squirrels and raccoons.  (Octavia now had a thick raccoon skin hat thanks to his skills, but she had insisted he keep the squirrel-lined mittens for himself.)  But even though he knew she had deadly aim with a bow and a husky, warm laugh that she let sound whenever he told stories about Octavia, he knew precious little about his Ice Princess.

 

He knew her father was dead, and he knew she had refused Wells in some manner, but both of those facts had come from Wells himself.  Clarke would freely detail the history of her clan and the various other nations, but when it came to her life she remained tight lipped.  He knew the importance of history to the  _ Azgeda _ , and that the classes the children took in the mornings were intended to preserve something of the culture that had been decimated by the bomb.  Wells taught those lessons, in addition to teaching Bellamy their language, and had promised Bellamy he could take over teaching duties if he wanted once he had proved himself competent enough in a fight to be excused from training.  Bellamy knew that the afternoons were reserved for drilling, as everyone— even healers and teachers— had to know how to defend their settlement in case of attack.  He knew much about the Ice Nation and every day he learned more, but when it came to Clarke, his knowledge lacked.  He knew she had loved— or maybe still did love— the Trikru’s heda, and he knew she sometimes fought with her mother.  He’d overheard more than one argument but rarely recognized more than one word in a dozen, despite working with Wells on their language most evenings.  (He also knew that Clarke was a terrible teacher, since their first and only fight had happened when she tried to teach him the word for “forest,” laughed at his accent, and then snapped when he mocked hers in English.  They had made up by fucking against the wall of their cabin, Clarke’s nails digging into his shoulders the entire time.)  Ice Nation spoke mostly English but their dialect of Trigedasleng was the language of their warriors and if Bellamy and the delinquents wanted to fight alongside them, they would have to learn.  He had tried to open her up by talking about himself (well, Octavia, mostly, but Bellamy didn’t have much in his life aside from Octavia and those awful few weeks at the dropship), but it rarely worked.  

 

But during moments like this— standing in the butchering shed, Clarke showing him how to skin the deer — he didn’t mind so much.  It wasn’t a perfect marriage, but she could make him smile.

 

And then there were the evenings.

 

It wasn’t always like their first night together.  Clarke didn’t always take the lead and he didn’t always submit, but rarely were their couplings anything that could be called gentle.  There was always a fierceness to it, a passion that stole his breath away.  Some nights she ordered him around, challenging him to accept her control, and some nights they met each other as equals, tearing at their clothes, desperate to be inside each other’s skin.  One memorable night Bellamy turned the tables and Clarke followed his orders with a sly smirk.  Sometimes, when Clarke was loose-limbed and lazy from her peak, she would share little pieces of her life— a story about Wells, a memory of her father— but that was it.  They were friends, and they were lovers, but any deeper connection eluded them.

  
  
  


**

 

The last light of dusk had long since faded when Bellamy shouldered open the door to their home.  He’d washed the blood off his hands back at the butchering shed, but the icy water had chilled him to the bone and the piercing wind off the lake didn’t help.  The fire was roaring when he fit the door shut behind him, and Clarke was lounging in a copper tub, her hair pinned up and out of the water.

 

“How was the hunt today?” she asked, tipping her head back against the rim.

 

“Four raccoons, two deer, maybe a dozen squirrels,” he said, shrugging off his cloak.  “Is the flu still spreading?”

 

“Only three new cases today,” Clarke replied.  “We had seven new cases this time last week, so I think it’s finally contained.”  She looked over her shoulder, sending the water swirling against the sides.  “And I just got in, so join me.  The water is still warm.”

 

Bellamy was already unbuttoning his shirt as he leaned down to kiss her.  “That sounds great,” he said, shedding his clothes between Clarke and the fire.  He couldn’t imagine how cold the Dropship would have been once winter set in in full force and said yet another silent thank you that Wells had shown up when he did.  And then he stepped into the hot water and settled behind Clarke, her back leaning against his chest and he felt grateful all over again.  He wrapped his arms around her ribcage and let her breasts rest against his forearms.  “Any news about the envoy today?” he asked with his lips against the shell of her ear.  Lexa had sent an ambassador two weeks ago, a tall, dark man with a look that Bellamy had instantly distrusted.  Or maybe that was just because Octavia seemed so taken with him.  

 

"Nothing important."  Clarke trailed her fingers through the water and then craned her neck for a slow kiss that made him forget all about that damn envoy.

  
  


**

 

The fire had been reduced to embers and the air in their cabin was cold when Bellamy woke up the next morning.  But underneath the furs he was warm with Clarke stretched out beside him, slumbering peacefully.  

 

One blue eye opened and peered at him over her arm tucked under the pillow.  “Good morning, husband,” she said.

 

Bellamy ran his fingers through her soft waves.  “Morning,” he replied.  “Are you working in the clinic today?”

 

Clarke shook her head.  “My mother wants me in the throne room today,” she said with a grimace.  “Lessons with Wells today?”

 

“He’s busy with Raven and the radios,” Bellamy said. 

 

“What does Wells know about radios?”

 

“As far as I can tell, absolutely nothing.  But he said he was going to be spending the day with her and I was thinking of hunting, but maybe I’ll come with you to the throne room.  I haven’t seen Octavia in almost three days.”  O had picked up the Trikru dialect faster than anyone else and had proved herself handy with a sword, and as such she had been assigned to the throne room as a guard.  She had precious few duties yet, but she liked being a warrior and Bellamy liked to see her blossoming under the attention.  

 

Clarke’s face shuttered.  “Hunting is important work,” she said, rolling to her side and snatching her doeskin breeches from the ground.  “No need to avoid your duties.”

 

“I wouldn’t be avoiding anything,” he said, frowning at her bare back.  She pulled on a soft cotton shirt and then grabbed her lambswool sweater.  She seemed determined not to look at him.  “There’s no hunting party today.  I was just going on my own.”  Clarke stood, still with her back to him.  “Why don’t you want me there?”

 

“I never said that,” she replied, making a show of searching for her boots.  

 

“Clarke, where’s Octavia?” he asked, his voice hard.

 

“I didn’t say anything about Octavia,” she said, locating her boots and lacing one up.

 

Bellamy sat up and let the furs pool at his waist.  “Where is she?”

 

“My mother has come to trust Octavia at my suggestion.”

 

“Where.  Is.  She?”

 

Clarke looked him in the eye for the first time since she had gotten out of bed.  “On a mission for our people.”

 

“Your people, you mean.”

 

“Ours.  You married me, in case you forgot.”

 

“Couldn’t possibly,” he spat.  “Where did she go?”

 

“She’ll be safe.”

 

“That’s not an answer.  Where did she go?” he repeated.

 

Clarke closed her eyes and steeled herself.  “With Lincoln.  The envoy.”

 

“That’s who.  Where?”

 

“To Polis.  She’s been sent to treat with Lexa.”

 

“Lexa betrayed you, and you're sending her there?”

 

“I trust Lincoln.  And Lexa would never hurt an ambassador,” Clarke insisted.

 

“You thought Lexa would never betray you, either, but she did,” he threw back.  “When did she leave?”  He threw the furs back and started searching for his own clothes.

 

“She left yesterday.  Lincoln knows the land; she’ll be safe, I promise,” Clarke said.  Bellamy threw his clothes on hurriedly, fury beating under his skin.

 

“I don’t care,” he spat.  “I’m going after her.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.  You’ll be lost or taken by the Mountain within days,” she replied scornfully.

 

“Then that’s on me.  I’m not leaving my sister at the mercy of you people.”

 

“You’re one of us now,” she reminded him.  “That’s what you agreed to the day you showed up half dead, begging for our mercy.”

 

“Am I?”

 

“That was the agreement.”

 

“The agreement?  You mean when I married you?” he shouted.  “I married you to keep her safe and you just sent her to her death.”

 

Clarke scoffed.  “My mother did no such thing.  Octavia is more than ready to handle a mission, and Lincoln is trustworthy.  You’re overreacting.”

 

“Overreacting?” he bellowed.  “Overreacting?  The Mountain is taking people every week.  Because we were sold out, I’d add, by your two-faced lover.”

 

“Don’t talk about Lexa that way,” Clarke said, her voice cold.

 

“You can send my sister off to die and I can’t talk about your girlfriend?  Fuck you.”

 

Clarke swallowed and flared her nostrils, and when she spoke it was with a forced calm.  “I had nothing to do with that decision.”

 

“But you lied to me.  I asked you yesterday if anything had happened with the envoy, and you lied.  Because you don’t trust me.”

 

“And why should I, if this is your reaction?”

 

Now it was Bellamy’s turn to scoff.  “Heaven forbid princess should have to tell her husband the truth,” he taunted.  “But you just can’t bear to let someone in, can you?”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means we’ve been married for months and I barely know you.  You’ll fuck me, but you won’t talk.”  He stuffed his feet into his boots and strode across the room.  “She’s my sister.  I won’t let her get hurt,” he declared, grabbing his cloak from where it lay puddled near the hearth.  “And you can find someone else to seal the alliance, because you and me?  We’re done.”

 

Her eyes were blazing when he shoved past her and slammed the door behind him.

 

**

 

In the end, Clarke was wrong.  

 

Bellamy wasn’t taken by the Mountain within days— he was taken by them within hours.  He hadn’t even left Ice Nation territory yet, although the yellow hills of the Dead Zone shimmered evilly in the distance when he heard the footsteps.  He reached down for his dagger with his left hand— slow and unconcerned, just the way Clarke had taught him — and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.  Two people behind him, maybe one in front; tough odds, but he wasn’t going down without a fight.  He wished he’d grabbed a bow and quiver before leaving, but he didn’t want to create any problems for the kids he’d left behind, and he wasn’t sure the Ice Queen would look kindly on him stealing weapons. He would have to make do with what he had brought from the Dropship.  There was a sharp cracking noise and then a bullet whistled past his ear and lodged in a nearby tree.

 

In a flash he’d grabbed the hatchet hanging from his belt with his right hand and hurled it towards the man hiding in the bushes to his left, wincing slightly at the wet smacking sound it made as it buried itself in his chest.  He pulled his dagger up and switched it to his right hand, bracing himself for one or both of his remaining pursuers to rush him or fire again.

 

There was a crack, and then a stinging sensation in his neck, and then nothing but darkness.

 

**

 

Bellamy blinked his eyes and saw a smear of color— bare trees and a blue sky— but then there was a shout and that same stinging sensation, and then there was nothing but the dark.  The next time he opened his eyes it was night, but he was barely awake for a few heartbeats before the needled jabbed in his neck, and then he was passing out again.

 

He came to in a cage, stripped almost entirely naked.  He shivered and tried to make sense of his surroundings.  His cage was small and cramped, barely large enough for him to sit up, and all around him were other cages, most filled with others his age.  A few cages stood ominously empty, but the cage to his right held a woman only a few years older than him with a fierce, angry look.  “Where are we?” he whispered.

 

She looked at him scornfully.  “Where do you think?” she spat.  “The Mountain.”

 

“What do they want with us?”

 

It was impressive, really, how much disdain a caged woman could summon.  She pointed down the aisle to where a young man hung from his ankles, hooked up to innumerable tubes.  Bellamy stared, uncomprehending, until he noticed the dark color of one tube.   _ Blood.  They’re draining them of blood. _  “You’re one of them, aren’t you?  Those children who invaded us,” she asked.

 

“We never invaded anyone,” he growled.

 

“You appeared on our land, hunting our animals, and killing our people.  That’s what we call an invasion,” she spat back.  

 

“You’re Trikru?”

 

“I might be.”

 

“I thought you were protected.  Didn’t your commander make a deal with the Mountain?”

 

“It’s not her fault the mountain is faithless,” the woman whispered back.

 

_ No wonder Lexa was so desperate for an alliance. _

 

The woman furrowed her brow and frowned at him, her sharp cheekbones standing out in the eerie fluorescent light.  “How did you survive?”

 

“Survive what?”

 

“The Mountain has not brought in any of you since shortly after I was captured.  I assumed my commander had been victorious in her battle against you, but clearly you survived.”

 

“There was no battle.  We ran.”

 

“To where?  You were not prepared to survive the winter.”

 

“Then why did you bother trying to wipe us out?” he countered.  

 

“You started this war,” she retorted.  “But where did you run?  Who took you in?”

 

“We’re  _ Azgeda _ now,” he said, but then something in his brain fell into place.  “But there are more of us here?  Of my people?”

 

“Ice Nation, or invaders?”

 

Bellamy gave her a sour look.  “Invaders.”

 

She pointed to a door in a poorly lit corner.  “They took your people through that door a few days ago.  They do not come out.”

 

“ _ Azgeda _ ?” another woman hissed.  Bellamy looked to his left and found another long-limbed brunette curled uncomfortably in a cage.  “Will the queen come for us?” she asked.

 

Bellamy shrugged, honestly unsure.  Queen Abigail was cautious, that much he knew, and Clarke often pushed for a harder line against the Mountain.  But as far as he was aware, they weren’t planning on rescuing those inside the Mountain.  The delinquents were drilling every day with the Ice Nation warriors, but they had nowhere near the numbers to survive an assault of this magnitude.

 

And he wouldn't blame Clarke if she decided to just leave him for dead.

 

The Ice Nation woman slumped back down, and the defeat on her face reminded Bellamy of the way the delinquents looked at the Dropship after the Grounders started attacking.  So when a dark-haired woman in a white coat walked in and started surveying the cages, pausing at his fellow Azgeda’s cage, Bellamy started kicking his door to get her attention.  He’d vowed (right around the time they buried Charlotte and he gave up his pretensions at rebellion and anarchy) that he wouldn’t stand by and watch someone look like that if he could do anything about it.  It was stupid— she hissed that at him, in fact— but he didn’t care.

 

Being in the Mountain was a death sentence, after all.  He had known that the moment he found out where he was, and even the knowledge that some of his kids had survived didn’t change that— not if they had disappeared just a few days ago.  The Mountain did not show mercy, and Bellamy wasn’t exactly interested in sitting around and waiting to die.  He tried to fight the guards who pulled him from the cage— just because he didn’t see much point in waiting to die didn’t mean he intended to go down without a fight— but he only managed two good kicks before they jammed something in his shoulder that made him pass out.

 

He didn’t come to until they were lowering him down to the ground and unhooking the tubes from his veins.  He felt weak and shaky, and incredibly nauseous considering he hadn’t eaten in...well, he wasn’t sure how long.

 

“He must be one of them,” the masked guard was saying to his companion.  “Tsing wants him in the Extraction Chamber instead.”

 

“Bet she’s thrilled,” the other guard replied, grabbing Bellamy’s ankles.  “That’s one more for her rotation.”

 

Bellamy wanted to fight— punch, bite, anything— but he was too weak.  They carried him like a dead animal out the door his cage-mate had pointed at, into another, smaller room.  There were cages in this one too, but to his horror he recognized every face in the cages.  Monty was there, and Fox, and ten other kids he’d thought were long dead.

 

_ We left them behind _ , his brain hissed.  It didn’t matter that all evidence pointed to them being dead (memories of Atom’s long, slow death after their first encounter with acid fog would never leave him), Bellamy and Raven had made the decision to leave the dropship and run.  Jasper had argued for staying behind, unwilling to accept that Monty was gone, and even Miller had pushed for sending out one more search party before they abandoned camp.  But Bellamy had overruled them all, not ready to risk one more life if he could help it.

 

_ I should have gone out myself _ , he thought.   _ I could have found them.  Tried harder. _

 

He heard the gasps as the caged kids recognized him, but they stayed quiet until Bellamy had been shoved into his new wire cell and the guards had left.

 

“Bellamy!” cried Monty from directly below him.  “You’re alive?”

 

“I am,” Bellamy rasped.  “How many—?”

 

“There were fifteen of us,” Monty said sadly.  “There’s twelve of us now.  They’re using our bone marrow.”  He coughed and struggled to continue.  “I heard them talking, though— they need more of us, so they’re giving us breaks for a bit.  Trying to let our bone marrow regrow a little, but I don’t think it’s for our sakes.  I think they need more bone marrow than we could ever have.”

 

“They’re draining us,” Bellamy said.

 

Monty nodded.  “How did you get away?”

 

“Gounders.  A different tribe.  They took us in.”

 

“Will they—” Monty glanced around and lowered his voice.  “Will they come for you?”

 

Monty had the same expression as the  _ Azgeda _ warrior, but Bellamy could only shrug.  As far as he could tell, Clarke liked him enough as a hunting partner and a lover, but she didn’t love him. Clarke might simply write him off and move on with her life.  And even if she cared for him as a friend, friendship only went so far, especially when your people’s lives were at stake.  How many lives would she risk for him?  One?  Two?  Two hundred? None?  And that was assuming she knew where he was.  She might think he had found Octavia, but Octavia wouldn’t return from the Trikru for weeks yet, if she came back at all.  

 

No one was coming, and it was all his fault.

 

Monty nodded slowly even though Bellamy hadn’t answered his question.  “Is Jasper safe?”

 

“He is.  He misses you, though.”

 

Monty’s gaze flickered down for a second.  “And Miller?  He made it?”

 

Bellamy frowned, trying to remember if Monty had even said two words to Miller.  “He’s with them.  Or he was, when I left.”

 

“Right.  Well, you look tired.  Try and get some sleep,” Monty whispered.  “We should have a few hours before they come for one of us.”

 

Exhausted, Bellamy slipped into an uneasy slumber, only to be woken by the sound of a heavy metal door clanging shut.  He his eyes slowly focused as the guards walked past his cage, but his heart sank when he saw who they were choosing.

 

Fox banged on the sides of her cage, fighting like an animal, but she was took weak.  “Bellamy!  Bellamy!” she cried as they pulled her out.  Her skin was deathly pale, and she had dark bruises under her eyes.

 

Bellamy closed his eyes at the edge of hysteria in her voice.  “I’m here,” he called.  “I’m here.”

 

“Bellamy, help!” she screamed, and it tore him apart inside.

 

“I’m here,” he said again, as soothingly as he could.  “I’m here.  Talk to me, Fox.  Talk.”

 

He got her to start listing her favorite memories from the Ark (babysitting her neighbor’s baby, the Unity Day celebration, the day the water-use timers broke and she got to take a hot shower for ten whole minutes) while they strapped her down.  The guards didn’t seem to hear, but once the doctor pulled out the drill Fox stopped talking and started screaming.  It was agony to listen to, and worse to watch as she screamed herself hoarse.  The guards and doctor ignored her and set about their business, filling vial after vial with her marrow, all while she was screaming.

 

But once she stopped she didn’t start again, and that was worse.

 

They tossed her down a chute like she was garbage instead of a scared, sweet girl, and Bellamy decided that the next time the guards came in, it was his turn.

 

He wouldn’t watch any more of his kids die.

 

He got his chance just twenty minutes later, when the door opened again.  “Hey!” he snarled at the guards.  “Take me!”

 

The guard rolled his eyes, annoyed.

 

“What are you doing?” Monty hissed.

 

“Stopping this.  Hey— you!” he yelled back at the guard.  “I said, take me.”

 

The doctor waved her hand dismissively.  “Take him.  It will give the other subjects a break,” she ordered.

 

Bellamy managed to smash his forehead into the face of the guard that came to pull him out first, but three shocks from their baton later he was being dragged limply across the cold concrete and strapped to the gurney.  The doctor stood over him, her dark eyes revealing no hint of humanity.  “This won’t kill you, you know,” she informed him, fussing with a long syringe.  “It only killed that girl because she’d had too many.  This is your first— it will hurt, but you’ll be fine.”

 

“Shut up and get on with it,” he spat.

 

“Your choice,” she replied evenly.

 

Bellamy almost regretted his words when the drill bit into his hip, but he clamped his lips shut to muffle his moans.  He didn’t want the rest of the kids to see how much it hurt him, even though it hurt more than anything he had ever felt.  He passed out from the pain at least twice but each time the spear of the needle brought him back.

 

He was so delirious from the pain he thought he was hallucinating when a spear sprouted through the doctor’s chest, but then she slumped over the table to his side.  The guards opened fire and Bellamy heard the bullets spattering against the bunker walls, and then silence. The caged delinquents seemed to hold their breath, but just as a shadow fell across Bellamy he heard Monty gasp. 

 

A woman resembling his sister peered down at him, but his sister didn’t wear dark warrior paint around her eyes, and she might have started braiding her hair like a Grounder back in Oster, but nothing as elaborate as this.  But her eyes filled with tears at the sight of him and she started fumbling and cursing at his restraints, and he knew it was her.  “O?”

 

“Bell?” she sniffed.  “You’re okay?”

 

“I’ve been better,” he said weakly, and a hint of a smile crossed his face.  “How did you get in here?”

 

Octavia managed to release his wrist and turned to the lock holding his neck in place.  “Your wife.  She found out you were captured and sent riders after me and Lincoln, and we worked things out with the Commander, and now we’re here.”  She finished releasing his restraints and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.  “Can you stand?  We have to get out of here.”

 

“The kids,” he said, pointing to the cages, but just then he realized someone was moving methodically down the line, unlocking the cages.  He recognized the bulky frame and shaved head of the Trikru ambassador, who now had one of the younger girls slung across his shoulder.  

 

“Come on, Bell.  Let’s go,” his sister ordered, and gave him her shoulder to lean on.  She lead them through the dark tunnels of the Mountain, the delinquents following silently and Lincoln bringing up the rear. 

 

“What about the rest of the Grounders?” he whispered while Octavia dug through her pockets for a keycard.

 

A blaring alarm sounded above them.  “That would be them,” she replied.  “Clarke was in charge of getting them out.  We’re meeting outside— let’s go.”  Octavia pulled open the heavy metal  door and they began a long, painstaking climb up an endless staircase.

 

Bellamy gulped down fresh air as two Trikru men brought over a stretcher and helped him onto it.  Octavia grabbed his hand and squeezed.  “They’re going to take you to triage— you hang in there, big brother.”  Bellamy nodded and let himself pass out.

  
  


Octavia was sitting at his bedside, her face wiped clean of the war paint, when he came to.  “I have to stop doing that,” he mumbled. 

 

“Doing what?”  She busied herself pouring him a cup of water.

 

Bellamy accepted the tin can from her hands.  “Passing out.”

 

“You’ve been through a lot,” she said with a wry smile.  “I think some passing out is warranted.”

 

“Did you get everyone out?”

 

Octavia wiped his forehead with a damp cloth and frowned at the cut on his cheek.  “All the kids from the ship, yeah.  Most of the Grounders, too.”

 

“Is Clarke okay?”  Just mentioning her name brought a heavy weight of guilt to his heart.

 

“She took some hits in the fighting, but she’ll pull through,” Octavia replied with a clenched jaw.  “She tried to keep me from the assault team.”

 

Bellamy closed his eyes and blew out a breath.  “We fought about you,” he admitted.  “That’s why I left.”

 

“I know,” she said with a grin.  “There was a reason I didn’t say goodbye, you know.”

 

“Because I would have forbidden it?”

 

“Because you think you can forbid me from doing things,” Octavia replied.  She looked up and nodded at someone across the room.  “But it looks like your wife is patched up.  You take it easy and no getting out of bed until Jackson says you can, okay?”

 

“Promise,” he said, and turned his head to see Clarke weaving her way through the cots.  She had cuts on her face and her arm was in a sling, but she was otherwise unharmed.  He didn’t realize until that very moment, when it felt like a weight had lifted off his chest, just how worried he had been.

 

Bellamy grunted and pushed himself to a sitting position, ignoring the screaming pain in his hip at the movement, while Clarke took the seat most recently occupied by Octavia.  She reached out and helped him up, her mouth set in a thin line.  “How are you feeling? she asked, a little stiffly.

 

“Like hell,” he admitted.  “You?”

 

Clarke motioned to her shoulder.  “I’ve been better.”  An awkward silence fell, and the noise of the triage tent rose around them.

 

“What’s going to happen to the Mountain Men?”

 

“They’ve surrendered.  Or most have, anyway.  There was apparently a coup in their leadership last week that led to the marrow extraction, but another coup happened when we invaded.  Lexa is working out the details with their leader.”  She looked down and tightened her fingers around her knee.  “I should have told you about Octavia’s mission,” she said quietly.

 

“Probably,” he said with a snort.  “But I probably didn’t have to yell at you like I did.”

 

Clarke looked at him and arched an eyebrow.  “Or rush off after your sister like she couldn’t take care of herself?”

 

Bellamy raised and dropped one shoulder.  “I probably would have done that anyway,” he said, and Clarke cracked a grin.  Bellamy patted a spot next to him and grabbed a blanket from the foot of the cot.  He draped it around his shoulders and opened his arms to her, and Clarke melted against his chest.  Physical comfort was something that came easy to them, after all.  “So where do we go from here?” he asked, his lips touching the crown of her head.

 

“We start again,” Clarke said, weaving the fingers on her good hand with his.  “We talk more. _I_  talk more.”

 

“Got it.  More talk, less sex.”

 

She giggled against his shoulder, and Bellamy grinned.  “I didn’t say that," she said.  "I just said I’d tell you more.”

"I suppose I could try and trust you more too."

 

"You could."

 

“Okay then, more talk, more trust, and more sex.”

 

“That’s better.”  She lifted her head and her blue eyes looked so heavy, so weary, that Bellamy pressed his lips to her forehead.  Her eyes fluttered closed and he breathed her in.  

 

He was home.

 

**

  
  


_ Epilogue _

 

Bellamy was just considering turning on one of Raven’s solar powered lamps when Clarke opened the door.  The soft summer air drifted in with her and she dropped her bag with a heavy sigh.

 

“How did negotiations go?” he asked.

 

Clarke groaned and kicked off her shoes.  “Don’t ask,” she said, stumbling across the room and flopping face first on the bed.

 

Bellamy closed the book he was using to plan out lessons.  “That good, huh?”

 

“I’m never going to be Ice Queen,” she said, her voice muffled by the mattress.  “Hope you’re okay with never being king.”

 

“How much land does the Trikru want?”

 

“All the land,” she whine, rolling over to her back.  “They want all the land, and the Sea Clan want the Mountain to reimburse them for the people they lost to their reaper program with technology, and the Mountain survivors think we’re not working on setting up a marrow donation program fast enough.”  She threw her arm over her eyes and groaned again.  “I’ve been begging to be let back into the clinic, but we haven’t had any outbreaks so Jackson says I’m not needed.”

 

“Only you would be upset there aren’t any pandemics,” Bellamy teased, walking over to the bed.  He stood astride her dangling legs and she pushed herself up on her elbows.  In the heat of summer she’d taken to wearing a jerkin that laced up the front, and he saw the faint outlines of her biceps in the dim light.  

 

Clarke pushed herself the rest of the way up on her arms and bit her lip.  “How are the lessons coming?” she asked, her eyes trained on his lips.  ”

 

“They’re fine,” he said.  “But I don’t really want to talk about them right now.”  He curved his hands around her cheek and drew his thumb down her lips, pulling them apart slightly.  Her tongue came out and she wet her lips, a flush starting to stain her cheeks.

 

Bellamy closed the distance between them and fit his mouth against hers.  As always she was soft and warm, and she grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to her.  He worked at the laces on her jerkin until it fell apart and he could slip his hand inside.  Her breast filled his hand and he thumbed at her nipple, grinning at the way it made her arch towards him.  Slowly, they shed their clothes, kissing every inch of skin as it was revealed.  The setting sun brought out the gold in her hair when she sat up to tug his shirt over his head, and her lips attached to the spot on his neck that made him hiss in pleasure.

 

His fingers tangled in the hair at the base of her neck, but Clarke jerked back.  “Did I say you could touch me?” she growled.  She watched him, waiting for his response.

 

Bellamy lowered his hands to his sides and gave her a tiny nob. “On your back,” she ordered, and Bellamy laid down and let finish stripping him of his clothes.  She trailed her fingers down his chest and dug her nails into the skin near his hip, which made him groan aloud.  His cock bobbed against his stomach and Clarke climbed over him with the sly grin he’d come to love.

 

She dipped her head and nipped at his hipbone, and then without warning engulfed his cock in her mouth.  Her hand grasped him firmly at the base and twisted, dragging a moan from his lips.  Clarke sat back on her heels and grinned before bending back down and tracing the vein on the underside of his cock and then swirling across the tip.  He curled his fists into the furs on the bed and gritted his jaw to keep from from reaching out and touching her.

 

“Touch me,” she whispered, reading his mind, and then wrapped her lips around him again.  

 

Fighting against the sensations threatening to overwhelm him he slipped his fingers between her folds.  “So wet,” he groaned, and Clarke rewarded him with a hard suck when he slowly pressed a finger inside of her.  He added another and she let his cock fall from her lips with a cry.

 

“Inside me, now,” she ordered, and Bellamy withdrew his fingers rolled them over so he could thrust inside her in one swift movement, and they both cried out.  She pulled his face down to kiss him, and their breath started mingling as they panted in unision.  Her peak hit just seconds before his, and then they lay together, their skin sticky with sweat in the early evening heat.

 

“I probably should finish those lessons,” he mumbled against her breasts.

 

Her laugh ruffled the hair on top of his head.  “I wasn’t the one who distracted you,” she pointed out.  

 

“Mmmph,” he grumbled, kissing her sternum delicately.  

 

Clarke wrapped her arms around him and sighed.  “You can do them later,” she said, and Bellamy felt inclined to agree, especially with how languid his muscles felt at the moment.

 

“Later,” he agreed, and rolled to his back.  Clarke rested her head on his shoulder and he started tracing idle patterns on the skin of her back.

 

He had never felt so hopeful in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to bleedtoloveher for her quick beta work. (Title from Hozier's Foreigner's God.)


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